


The Dead Can Still Bloom

by NeonCandies



Series: Overwatch Hanahaki Disease [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Concept Art Mercy - Freeform, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Post-Fall of Overwatch, Pre-Fall of Overwatch, Reaper76 - Freeform, Sombra causing trouble with good intentions(?), Sort Of, background McHanzo, background genyatta - Freeform, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-14
Updated: 2017-11-14
Packaged: 2019-02-02 11:43:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12726003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeonCandies/pseuds/NeonCandies
Summary: Gabriel was an expert at hiding the flowers, he had to be in order to avoid answering questions he didn't want to. When Overwatch fell, Gabriel had thought he would stop coughing up flowers, he had thought they'd disappear just like his love did. He was quick to learn that fate was cruel and that the dead can still bloom.





	The Dead Can Still Bloom

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Heyo! Here I am dropping off a Reaper76 oneshot! Trying to get the hang of writing these guys. I'm not completely satisfied with how it turned out, but I'm pretty sure that's because I'm still trying to figure out how to write some characters. I'll get there eventually! I also tried a different writing style for this, not really liking it too much. But that's ok since I don't plan on using it again, lol. I'm also going to be a little delayed (maybe) on posting the new story, but that's because of both school and because I'm writing a oneshot for Challenge, then also writing a oneshot for the Genyatta Secret Santa (or at least I hope so!). But fare warning, I've had the plot for the story and this oneshot in my head before Moira was introduced, because of that I won't be including her in either story. Nor will I be including the fact that she's the reason Gabriel is a fart cloud of angsty rage. I'll wait on writing her till I see what Blizzard intends to do with her :U till then she won't really exist... Also! For this story, take whatever timelines you know about overwatch and what you read in the comics and just toss them out the window. You can pick them up after but for the sake of this story, ignore timeline inconsistencies and everything else. I took liberties for this oneshot:u  
> Oh! But in other news, many thanks to Aqua_Are for translating some things for me and editing some parts of the story! You really helped me out! Once again, thank you! And thank you guys for reading! Hopefully you enjoy my first crack at Reaper76 :>

Gabriel Reyes could never remember the exact time he started coughing up those delicate bluebells, but he did know the moment he fell in love. How could he forget the battle that marked the breaking point in the war against the God AI’s?

Around them the terrain was nearly demolished, buildings barely standing and missing chunks from their sides. They were covered in soot and dirt, bleeding from cuts and a couple bullet wounds, some faring worse than others. Around them fire still danced, licking away at the bodies of Omnic and human alike. The militia of humans stood there atop the rubble, hearts pounding and ears ringing, waiting for the next wave.

But it never came.

When they realized that they had won this battle, the relief that passed through the soldiers was overwhelming. Gabriel stood there, eyes seeking out his best friend, one of the only few who had survived the SEP training with him. Jack Morrison locked eyes with him and grinned, his laugh bubbling out being the catalyst for whooping cheers.

Gabriel stared, only for a moment, but to him it felt like an eternity. The way Jack’s eyes danced with delight, his teeth stained red from his gums bleeding, probably by taking the butt end of a gun to the face. His hair was a mess and looked like he had taken globs of mud to use as hair gel. Head to toe he was covered in blood and grime, but Gabriel was no better. He had a feeling he looked the same way, if not worse.

He felt his own grin settle its way onto his face and, without much prompting, the two sprinted at each other and hugged. Around them the other soldiers shared a similar moment with their comrades, hugging and cheering in delight. The pounding of feet and large arms wrapping around both Jack and Gabriel signalled Reinhardt Wilhelm joining in the celebration. His booming laughter easily drowned out the cheers from those closest to them, the behemoth of a man picking both soldiers clean off the ground.

Though the fighting wasn’t over yet, that didn’t mean they shouldn’t celebrate another Omnium being taken down successfully. It was great cause for celebration no matter what anyone might say. And, as Gabriel and Jack grinned widely at each other, covered in muck and smelling of sweat and gunpowder, Gabriel felt a burning feeling spread throughout his entire system, scorching hot like being stabbed, but not at all painful.

That moment was when Gabriel knew he loved Jack, didn’t even need to mull on his feelings. He already saw Jack as his closest friend, to him it wasn’t unbelievable that maybe those feelings could grow. But Gabriel didn’t have time to confess or address his feelings, he had a war to win. For now his emotions could wait until the world was safe and they didn’t have to worry about dying every other day.

But it seemed like his body had different plans for him. The first bluebells he had coughed up had been fully bloomed and reeking their sweet smell. He didn’t remember the day and he didn’t remember the time, he just knew he woke up feeling like he was choking and, crouched over the toilet in his cramped standard issue bathroom, Gabriel coughed up a handful of flowers.

He was alarmed, to put it lightly. Just what the fuck was going on with him? Did he contract something in their most recent battle? That’s stupid, he hadn’t been hit with anything other than the usual bullets. And even then he had only been shot in the arm and thigh, nothing uncommon for him.

Washing his face in the sink, Gabriel stared at his reflection in the mirror. He frowned, other than his beard and chocolate brown curls needing a trim, he looked completely fine. Grimacing, Gabriel pushed away from the sink and turned off his lights. It was too early for this, he’d go talk to the doctors at a more reasonable hour. For all he knew he was just hallucinating from lack of sleep and nerves.

Several hours later Gabriel was getting a check-up from Angela Ziegler, the young Swiss doctor. Her teacher, Damien Leutzinger, came up beside her in order to compare notes and see how his protégée was handling her role. Only recently has he deemed her fit enough to be considered an honorary doctor, as the Omnic Crisis forced them to speed up her training. Still, Angela was completely adept in her roll and excelled where many had failed.

Both Damien and Angela were candidates for Project Valkyrie, Damien being the one to recommend his protégée for the project. Damien stood as tall as Gabriel, with a smooth undercut and his white dyed hair pulled up into a high ponytail. Damien’s soft brown eyes and even gentler voice helped him accomplish his task of keeping patients calm while he worked his magic. The dark-skinned doctor truly was a Godsend in the fight against the Omnics.

He was efficient in his work and as one could tell with Angela, a damned good teacher. Gabriel fully trusted both of them to tell him just why the hell he was coughing up flowers.

“Well Agent Reyes, I’m pleased to say our tests came up negative for any poisons in the skin tissue and blood samples we took. You seem to be perfectly fine, as far as I can tell. Rather banged up and sleep deprived, but you’ve just gotten back from taking down another Omnium, so we can use that as a factor.” Angela spoke methodically, flipping through some papers.

“Let’s skip the formalities, doc. I’m coughing up flowers, I wouldn’t exactly call that ‘fine’.” Gabriel snorted, enunciating his point with finger quotes.

Damien hummed, rubbing his chin in thought. “Well we did do a body scan, but those results won’t be available for a while. What kind of flowers did you say you were coughing up?”

Gabriel raised a brow, “Do you really think I stood there studying something that shouldn’t have come out of my body in any way other than if I was dead and acting as fertilizer?”

All this earned him was a cryptic smile and a shrug. Gabriel opened his mouth to throw out something snarky, but his body was wracked by another coughing fit. He covered his hand with his mouth and hunched over, feeling as if he was hacking up his lungs. Angela and Damien were quick to act, Angela running off to do who knows what while Damien placed a hand to Gabriel’s back, whispering soothingly.

When his coughing subsided and he removed his hand from his mouth, blue flowers spilled from his hand and landed on the floor. He grimaced and wiped at his mouth, dislodging a few blue petals that had been pulled off from the buds.

Damien’s eyes widened and he took a step back, staring down at the flowers. He turned just as Angela came back with a glass of water. He met her halfway, taking the glass from her hand. “Angela, get a pair of gloves and a container. Tweezers and my stethoscope as well.”

She took one glance at Gabriel and then the flowers on the floor before spinning around and going off to fetch the requested items. In the meantime Damien sidestepped the flowers and handed Gabriel the glass of water. His brows drew together in concern as he watched Gabriel chug the water gratefully. His throat felt like someone took sandpaper to it, grating and irritating him like no one’s business.

“How are you feeling?” Damien asked after taking the empty glass, setting it on a nearby counter.

Angela came back with the stethoscope in hand, giving it to Damien. She herself put on the gloves and used the tweezers to pick up the bluebells, placing them in a container and sealing it up.

Grimacing, Gabriel rubbed at his chest. “A bit weirded out by the fact I wasn’t having a fever dream and am actually coughing up flowers. But other than that nothing noteworthy.”

Both doctors stared at him, each of them shooting him a disbelieving look. It was a pain all on its own just having one of them pull their ‘ _I know when you’re lying to me so just fess up’_ look, but having both of them direct it at him was just too much. Gabriel grumbled under his breath, pointedly looking off to the side.

“My throat hurts, but that’s just it.”

“Are you sure?” Damien put on the stethoscope, pressing it against Gabriel’s chest and giving him some instructions to breathe now and again. Once done, he spoke without looking at Angela, who was taking notes.

“Breathing sounds a little off, almost as if something is blocking his windpipe. Our scan should reveal just what it is that’s going on with you. However, as your doctor I’m telling you to take some time off till the results are in.” Damien said, taking off his stethoscope and hanging it around his neck.

“Not happening doc,” Gabriel didn’t even hesitate a moment to think about that. He hopped off the examination table, shrugging on his black hoodie.

“This isn’t a request as a friend, Gabriel, this is an order from your doctor.” Damien crossed his arms over his chest and frowned at the other.

Sparing a glance over his shoulder, Gabriel huffed. “We’re in the middle of a war, Damien. The last thing we need is for the men to learn that their leader is being held back from battle because he’s coughing up flowers.”

Angela frowned, “This is not just some simple flu, Gabriel! This is possibly an infection of some kind! Something we’ve never even heard of before! We don’t know if this is contagious.”

“So what, you want to put me in quarantine?”

“Angela has a point, Gabriel.”

Gabriel huffed out a sigh, shaking his head, “Look, I feel fine. A little cough is nothing I can’t handle. I don’t have time to sit back and patiently wait to find out why I’ve suddenly got a garden popping out of my mouth. And I don’t think the God Programs are going to sit back twiddling their thumbs waiting for me to get the ok from you two.”

Damien sighed at that and uncrossed his arms over his chest. He stared at Gabriel with a mixture of worry and frustration. “Gabriel…”

He paused in opening the door, pursing his lips. “Look, if anything changes I’ll let you know, ok? But for now I need to focus on our next course of action.”

Though both Angela and Damien were extremely reluctant, they couldn’t deny that Gabriel truly was needed in this fight. Though he trusted his soldiers to carry out the missions without him if it came down to it, Gabriel was never one to sit back and let others risk their neck while he was back at base safe and sound. Illness or not, he would be out there fighting against the Omnium.

And he did.

Side-by-side with his close friends, the battles were being won. Left and right they were gaining ground in the fight against the Omnics. And despite the obvious increase in times he coughed up flowers, Gabriel didn’t tell Angela or Damien. He couldn’t afford to be put on leave now, not when they were so close to winning the war. Of course it was completely neglectful and poor judgement, but Gabriel was a risk taker when he needed to be. However he should’ve known better than to expect such stubborn doctors to leave him alone.

At one of his check-ups, Angela and Damien made sure they were the only ones in the room before they talked about it. At Gabriel’s request they were keeping everything about this under wraps, they didn’t need such information getting out. Gabriel apparently had a disease called “Hanahaki”, something that wasn’t contractive, much to their relief. No, it was just a flower disease that would slowly kill Gabriel the longer he had it.

Or, as Angela put it: It will gradually block his lungs until he suffocated. It wasn’t the greatest way to go, but Gabriel didn’t exactly have time to work on the only known cures. Confessing was out of the question while the war was going on and an extensive surgery to pluck out the roots in his lungs was too risky. It could wait until the war was over.

Both Angela and Damien were extremely reluctant for Gabriel to continue on with his normal tasks while coughing up flowers on the side, but they respected his wishes. It didn’t stop them from keeping an extra close eye on him though. It was annoying but sweet, though Gabriel would never admit it.

Yet then the war ended and suddenly Gabriel had a new excuse not to confess. Because that’s what these were, excuses. He knew he was in love with Jack Morrison, hard not to be when they knew almost everything about each other. They’d been through hell together, fought side-by-side in SEP and in the Omnic Crisis. And even now when Overwatch was being taken over by big-wigs who didn’t know a damn thing about battle, they were still fighting together.

At least in the beginning they were…

It always surprised Gabriel how long he lasted with the flowers growing from his lungs. In order to avoid Angela or Damien from nagging his ear off for neglecting his health, Gabriel had gotten better at hiding them. He hid them from Jack and would swallow down any coughs he had until he knew he was alone.

When Damien left Overwatch to return to his family hospital and help there, it was kind of a relief for Gabriel. Now he only had to hide the increased amount of bluebells from one hell-raising doctor. Which was easier said than done. Like her mentor, it was like Angela almost had a sixth sense for when someone was feeling even slightly under the weather. She would never directly ask Gabriel about how his garden problem was going, but he knew she was keeping extra tabs on him, probably at the request of Damien. For all he knew she was still updating her old mentor on his health. From what his most recent scans showed, the flowers and roots were growing slow and steady, getting bigger and covering a wider area by each check-up.

“You’re dying,” She said after another visit. If Gabriel hadn't been able to see how badly her hands were shaking and the white-knuckled grip she had on her clipboard, he would’ve thought she was indifferent delivering the news. “Gabriel, you’re dying and you aren’t doing anything about it.”

“You know that’s not the case.” He sighed, rubbing tiredly at his face.

“Isn’t it? You have been making one excuse after the other to not get surgery or to confess.” Angela hissed, her shoulders hunching.

Gabriel rolled his eyes, “You’re assuming, doc, and you know what they say about assuming. You make an ass out of you and me.”

The force Angela used to slam her clipboard onto her desk made Gabriel jump. She whipped around, glaring at him angrily with tears welling in her eyes. “Do not joke about this! Gabriel I am watching you die with every passing day! Do you know what that feels like? You won’t listen to me when I tell you to confess and you won’t listen to me when I tell you, you need surgery! At this rate you will be buried by next month!”

Silence fell between them, the only sound being Angela’s heaving breaths. She sucked in a frustrated wisp of air, clenching her eyes shut tight.

“Just… Why won’t you do something? Anything? You know this is killing you, so… Why?”

Gabriel didn’t have a response he could give that would sooth her worries. Not the answer that she wanted, anyways. Gabriel couldn’t confess, not with how he and Jack were right now. And surgery was out of the question, he couldn’t- **wouldn’t** \- let these feelings disappear. He was too damned stubborn for that. He left Angela’s office, unable to comfort her and unable to make a choice.

Gabriel had been so meticulous hiding the flowers that the rare moments he slipped up, of course it was in front of one of his charges. Jesse McCree, still wet behind the ears and acting like he was hot shit when he was just a snot-nosed kid parading around as an ‘ _adult’_. The cowboy-wannabe had caught Gabriel in a dark corner hunched against the wall, coughing like he was trying to expel demons from his body. It was just after a fight with Jack about something stupid, but then again, that’s what most of their fights consisted of these days. When weren’t they fighting, Gabriel found himself wondering. What had changed since the Crisis?

Whenever they fought, it was like his body would have a mutiny against him. He’d spend a solid ten minutes hacking up flowers and just trying to get his breathing under control. It was painful to stay angry in front of Jack when all he wanted to do was break face and cough up those damn flowers in front of him. Maybe then the aching would stop for a while.

McCree had of course been worried at seeing Gabriel cough up something that should be growing in the dirt, but he tried to school it over with prickly sarcasm. It didn’t work, especially when Gabriel almost lost his footing with how badly he was wheezing. Never before had McCree seen the Blackwatch leader in such a state. It was alarming, to say the least. If Gabriel was given the option, he’d take back that moment ever happening.

//

Gabriel had messed up on letting McCree see him vomit flowers, but that was just one instance. He had no intention of letting anyone else ever see those flowers, ever. But by now Gabriel should know that the universe just loved fucking him over.

Around them the Swiss base was burning, probably just minutes away from exploding them all sky-high. It wasn’t Gabriel’s fault, but all the evidence was painting him as the bad guy. It was clever, well-crafted. Almost managed to convince even him that he had been working for the enemy. But if he thought about it, maybe he had been working for the enemy. That would be the only explanation he could think of for the predicament he now found himself in. Gun drawn and pointed at a figure mirroring his pose tit-for-tat.

“It’s over, Reyes!” Jack yelled over the crackling of flames and the sound of rubble crashing to the floor.

Reyes, when had he stopped calling him Gabe? Probably ages ago, but Gabriel couldn’t be bothered to remember. It was so hard to breath, his lungs felt like they were collapsing. The damn smoke wasn’t helping, it was hanging around them like an angry fog, dragging him down into its dark abyss with every wheeze of his aching lungs.

“What’s over?!” He shouted back, using his free hand to gesture around them. “You mean this? Blackwatch? Overwatch?! I have news for you, Jackie, they’ve been over for a long time now!”

Jack’s eyes narrowed, their colour rivalling the flowers Gabriel had grown used to seeing on a daily basis. Even now when they were dancing with fire, either from anger or because the area around them was being drowned in flames, Gabriel knew he loved this man. If only he’d bothered to say something.

“Look around you, Morrison!” Gabriel snapped. He was tired of being treated like the enemy, like this was his fault. And for all he knew, maybe it was. Wouldn’t be the first time someone made him out to be the villain. “Do you really think I did all this? Turned my back on an organization I put my fucking heart and soul into? All for some petty reason like a promotion? You know I’m not like that, you know me!”

Jack knew what he was saying was true, but it was a hard pill to swallow. To admit that the traitor was in Overwatch’s ranks, always had been. That the seed of doubt had been planted early on and Gabriel was made to take the fall for it. Admitting that maybe all this time, Overwatch had been the bad guys, they were just better at keeping him out of the loop. Of course it had been a clever trap and the two of them had been too blind to see it.

He lowered his gun, a hand coming up to yank at his soot-covered hair. “Well what do you want me to do, huh?! Everything’s gone to shit! Overwatch is in shambles, the UN is ready to rip us apart in order to save face, and even if we make it out of this, what then?!”

Gabriel dropped his arm, not even bothering to holster his gun. The safety was on anyways, he never intended to shoot. He took the necessary strides to reach Jack, placing a hand on his shoulder even though his wish was to hold the man’s cheek.

“We survive, Jack. We survive and then we kick the asses of all those fuckers who decided to destroy our family.”

A small, strained twitch of Jack’s lip made Gabriel mirror the look with a crooked grin of his own. He and Jack rested their foreheads together, the long-time friends struggling to keep afloat in the chaos. They hadn’t forgiven each other for all the words said between them, but this was a start. They could do this, they had each other.

Then Gabriel felt that familiar fluttering tickle in his throat, one he could no longer ignore like he had just moments ago. Chest heaving, Gabriel ducked his head and coughed violently. Instantly Jack dropped his gun, the black pistol hitting the floor with a clack. Gabriel’s gun joined him, his hands gripping the front of Jack’s torn coat in order to ground himself.

“Gabe!” Jack yelled, grabbing his shoulders and trying to steady him. “What is it? Too much smoke? We need to get you out of here!”

Gabriel shook his head and heaved a heavy gasp before Jack watched in horrid fascination as delicate bluebells fell from his friend’s mouth. He followed Gabriel as the man slumped to his knees, wheezing as if he couldn’t get enough air into his lungs. And he couldn’t, it was like trying to breathe through one of those tiny coffee straws. Gabriel was gasping like a fish out of water, coughing out any air he managed to get into his lungs.

“Gabe!”

Reaching up with a shaky hand, Gabriel grabbed the front of Jack’s obnoxious blue coat, giving him a firm shove. “G-get out! There’s no point if… Both of us die!” He rasped, voice coming out scratchy and strained.

Jack frowned and, being the stubborn asshole he is, took one of Gabriel’s arms and slung it over his shoulder. “We’re getting you out of here. And after that you’re going to Angela for a fucking check-up, even if I have to haul your ass there!”

Despite the pain in his chest and the ache radiating from his body, Gabriel smiled slightly. Maybe it’d be all right. Maybe they could make it out of this, together. They could avenge Overwatch, their fallen friends, their fallen family.

But why, why had Gabriel not learned that right now the world hated him?

The ceiling above them cracked ominously, chunks falling down and landing next to them. One glance up and they saw that literally the whole roof was going to come down on them. They weren’t going to make it, not at this rate.

“There!” Jack yelled, pointing to the staircase that had somehow managed to survive the wreckage. If the stairs didn’t kill them, then the roof surely would. But any chance was better than none.

They ran as fast as they could to the stairs, Jack dragging Gabriel the times his body was wracked by a coughing fit. He was leaving a trail of bluebell in his wake, the damned flowers fluttering and occasionally being swallowed up by orange flames. He wasn’t going to make it, he knew this. There was no point in clinging to false hope. Even if they got out, the flowers were going to kill him. He’d run out of time.

The roof split and Gabriel acted, grabbing a hold of Jack’s coat and, with all of his strength, threw the man beneath the stairs. He caught the shock and panic in those blue eyes before the roof collapsed and plunged them into darkness.

//

Gabriel lost everything after that. He’d lost his home, his family, his humanity, and he’d lost his love. Jack Morrison was dead and Gabriel was something otherworldly. A botched experiment with a prototype weapon, an attempt to resurrect the dead. No one had the right to play God, this was proof enough of that. Gabriel wasn’t alive, but he wasn’t dead either. And if there was one thing he learned from his new existence, it was that the dead can’t bloom.

He didn’t produce bluebells the same way anymore. They still hurt to cough up, sure. But they weren’t beautiful and in full health, they were like him. Brittle and dead. It was a bitter reminder every time he would wheeze and those flowers would get lodged in his throat. They couldn’t kill him, not while he was this… Thing. He had thought they would disappear once Jack was dead, once his love had died. But turns out that even now he still loved him, the flowers were just reflecting that. A dead love for a dead man.

Once he became this ‘thing’ and joined Talon to accomplish his goals, Gabriel tossed away everything from his old life. He even started going by the name Reaper. However, it was hard to forget his broken past when he coughed up those damned flowers. He could only count it as a bitter relief that he didn’t cough them up as often as he did in the past.

However, as fate would have it, it was on one of those ‘flower days’ that his most untrustworthy teammate stumbled upon his secret. He should’ve known better than to think he had been alone. At their base, Reaper was never truly alone unless he was in his room, and even then he took his supposed ‘privacy’ with a grain of salt.

Reaper had his hood down and mask pulled up to rest atop his head, the white bone pinning back his mess of hair. The curled locks were streaked with grey, just as his beard was. Crimson eyes closed tight, Reaper hunched slightly from his sitting position. He grimaced as he was wracked by a coughing fit, the familiar scratchy feel of those dead blossoms passing through his throat dragging a shiver of discomfort from him. He found himself almost missing the feeling of the flowers when they had been soft and alive; at least then it hadn’t hurt so badly.

Sombra appeared in front of him, her camouflage disappearing with the familiar static purple effect. “Surprii-eeeeew!!!” She jumped away from Reaper, watching him spit dead flowers up onto his lap. She glanced between his face and the flowers, pursing her lips as her mind quickly processed everything. “So… Does that happen often?”

Reaper sighed, rolling his eyes and leaning back. He took the flowers in his lap and crushed them in a clawed hand, glaring down at the ashen remnants that managed to escape his fist. “Yes.” He didn’t bother to elaborate, finding this all completely nostalgic in the most painful of ways. He remembered when something similar happened all those years ago. Reaper crushed that memory down before it could fully surface. Those were Gabriel Reyes’ memories, and he was dead.

Sombra frowned slightly, sitting next to him. She reached over and plucked one of the stray flowers Reaper managed to miss. Sombra pinched it between her cybernetic nails. She studied it for a moment, twisting it this way and that before she turned her attention to her other hand. She opened her palm and a translucent purple screen popped up.

Dropping the dead flower back in Reaper’s lap, she typed away at the screen. Two more screens popped up, the woman grabbing at one on the left. She pushed the other two out of the way, making the one she plucked bigger.

“ _Hyacinthoides non-scripta_ , a common Bluebell. You coughing up the flowers they buried you with or something?” She asked, scrolling through images of the flower.

Reaper watched the pictures pass over the screen, feeling something in his chest squeeze. It had been a while since he saw the flowers with any colour, he’d forgotten how pretty they looked when they weren’t crispy and dead. Opening his hand, Reaper let the crushed remnants drop onto the concrete next to him.

“They don’t stuff flowers in your lungs when you die.”

Pursing her lightly painted lips, Sombra glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “So what, you just decided to take up the hobby of flower eating?”

Sombra swiped her hand over the screens, effectively tossing them to the side. They beeped before they closed automatically, leaving Sombra able to turn fully to face Gabriel. His lack of a response didn’t deter her from still pressing for answers. “What’s up with it, then? Why’re you coughing up dried out flowers? Have you coughed them up your whole life? Is that why you sound like you smoke 50 cigarette packs every morning before breakfast?”

Glaring at her half-heartedly, Reaper grabbed the edge of his mask and pulled it back down over his face. He was in no mood for an interrogation, coughing up the flowers always left him in a bad mood afterwards.

“Drop it, Sombra” He growled, moving to stand.

Sombra was quick to follow, “Drop it? But you’re coughing up flowers! That’s serious!”

“Sombra.” His tone was a warning.

“Is it an illness? When did it start happening? Does it hurt you?”

It was obvious she was worried with her relentless questions. But Reaper couldn’t force himself to appreciate her concern, even if he was in a better mood. Right now he just wanted to be alone with his thoughts and Sombra was seriously starting to piss him off.

“Sombra.”

“Have you told someone about this? Wait, of course not, you’ve got to keep up your tough terrorist look. Letting someone know you’re coughing up bluebells probably won’t end well. For them anyways.”

“Sombra.” This time it came out grated, more threatening.

She opened her hand and a screen popped up, “Maybe there’s something about it online.”

Reaper had enough, he didn’t need her looking up why he was coughing up flowers. He didn’t need her learning that it was about the love he had lost. “Olivia!”

Sombra jolted at the use of her name, eyes wide as she looked at the menacing form towering over her. Reaper’s mask was inches from her face, his form hazy at the edges from his barely contained anger.

“Drop. It.” He punctuated each word with a hiss before his form broke apart. The wraith’s shadowy mass slipped from the roof and disappeared somewhere down below, leaving Sombra stunned and alone.

She blinked, closing her gaping mouth with an audible clack of her teeth. It was clearly a sore topic, one she’d best avoid if she wanted to keep her limbs intact. But… That familiar tingle of curiosity started tickling its way up her spine and it was a call Sombra couldn’t ignore. She smirked and mentally activated her translocator, disappearing in a glitching of purple.

Reaper really didn’t expect Sombra to drop the subject, not when he knew the kind of person she was. Sure at times she actually listened and let go of a subject she knew Reaper didn’t want to talk about, but there were times she’d push and push until he relented. If he wasn’t so fond of her, Reaper would’ve killed her ages ago. He had a feeling she knew he was more lenient with her than he was with the others, even if he tried to cover it up with a prickly exterior. Damn him and his old habits of taking in strays.

At least Sombra had enough decency to wait a while before going to confront him. Reaper knew it only took a few hours at most for her to find Reaper’s ailment, so the fact that she held back from asking for a week was appreciated, even if he was loathing the conversation with every fibre of his being.

They were on the roof again, sitting in silence watching the sun set. It was nice, peaceful almost. The calm before the storm, as Reaper would once call it. They had a mission tomorrow, guarding a shipment from Talon that was supposed to be picked up by Los Muertos.

Sombra had her knees folded up to her chest, arms wrapped around them while her chin rested on her knees. Reaper sat beside her, mask off but hood still drawn.

Finally she broke the silence, “Hanahaki Disease. A symbol of unrequited love. Only known cures are to extract the roots from the lungs or to have the love returned.” A screen appeared with medical records, his, if he had to guess. She scrolled through the scribbles, frowning. “A doctor’s visit sometime before the Crisis ended. Considered the only anomaly because it’s the only visit that differs from the other check-up records. Notes from Angela Ziegler and Damien Leutzinger state a concern for patient Gabriel Reyes’ health. Reason not specified and never brought up again.”

She closed the screen, “You fell in love, started coughing up flowers, and then went to the doctors. How come there aren’t any notes about further visits? I know you had them. The frequency at which you went in for a check-up changed from once every few months, exempting when you were injured during a fight, to twice a month.”

Reaper sighed and rubbed a hand over his face, “You’re smart, you figure it out.”

Sombra snorted, tilting her head so she could rest her cheek against her knees. “Then I figure you wanted to keep it under wraps. If word got out that you had an illness, it would’ve dampened moral or something, huh? And after the crisis, word would’ve gotten to Morrison that you were ill, and you couldn’t have that. Especially since he’s who the flowers were for.”

“And how do you figure that?” While he wasn’t exactly denying it, Reaper wasn’t admitting it either.

She shrugged, chancing a glance at him. “Lucky guess? He’s the one you’ve known the longest, by logistic standards anyways. SEP training, the Crisis, and then up to the fall of Overwatch. The only ones you've known for almost as long are still alive, with the exception of Ana Amari when she was pronounced dead. And there would’ve been something of note if you suddenly started coughing up dried flowers when she died. Your doctors would’ve at least made a note or something about the flowers changing. So by process of elimination, it would have to be Morrison. He’s the only one you allowed that close.”

Reaper sighed, grinning wryly, though it was more of a grimace. “Not bad logically, but still too many factors. What if I was in love with another soldier? What if it was just coincidence?”

“Because you would’ve laughed in my face if I was wrong.” Sombra chuckled, though her laughter died down once their com-links started beeping. Her smile fell and Sombra pulled out the little device, putting it in her ear and pressing a button. “Sombra reporting.”

“ _The mission has been moved to tonight, report to the hanger for deployment_.” Widowmaker’s clipped tone filtered in.

Groaning, Sombra pouted. “Ah man, seriously? What gives?”

“ _Los Muertos has requested immediate action as it appears their outer posts are being eliminated once again_.” Widow sighed, sounding just as put-out as Sombra felt.

“Understood, we’ll be there.” Reaper grumbled into his own device, having kept it in his ear, just turned off.

The call ended and Reaper stood, his mask materializing upon his face, the bone white contrasting against the inky colour of his coat. Looking down at Sombra, he flicked his head. “Let’s go.”

//

It was merely a coincidence that the warehouse was attacked that night.

But really, it was the same man Los Muertos had issues with in the past? Reaper would’ve been impressed by this vigilante if he wasn’t seriously pissed off. He’d just taken a couple of Helix rockets to the back and was currently trying to blow the man’s brains out while he regenerated. It was strange fighting against this “ _Soldier 76_ ”, he fought like a man who knew what he was doing. He fought like a soldier and was handling that Helix Pulse Rifle with ease. Those guns were difficult to get a grasp on, the kickback sometimes too much for the average Joe. But for an SEP soldier, one made to be far more enhanced than a normal human, it was just perfect.

That train of thought made Reaper freeze, his finger wavering on the trigger. Soldier dodged out of the way just at the last minute, but even then Reaper didn’t take the shot. His hesitation led to the masked vigilante slamming in to him, the side of his gun knocking Reaper in the chest with enough force to send him staggering back several steps.

That knocked Reaper from his stupor. With a growl he dropped his shotguns, grabbing a hold of the man’s gun. They didn’t bother trying to tug it from each other’s grip, it was more of a match to see who could use it as a weapon faster than the other. Reaper managed to throw the weight of it up, catching the other in the chin with the edge of the gun. 76 dropped his hold, shoulders tense. Before Reaper could gloat about the small act, a fist was connecting to his mask. The strength behind it was surprising enough to make the wraith drop the gun.

Stooping down and grabbing it, Soldier 76 jumped back and lifted the gun, firing a barrage of bullets towards Reaper. His form collapsed into its ghost-like cloud, the wraith moving back and out of the line of fire.

Reaper and Soldier 76 had engaged in fighting the moment the masked vigilante appeared in the dingy warehouse, the two of them getting lost in their battle of bullets. He had no clue where Sombra was and he knew Widowmaker had no clear vantage point in order to take a shot. Staying inside was too risky on the off-chance that the cargo they were protecting was hit. One stray bullet in the right place and things were ready to blow. It didn’t help that the few Los Muertos gang members that decided to ‘help out’ were shooting bullets like deranged lunatics. They were terrified of the soldier taking them out, what cowards.

“Sombra,” He growled into his com.

There was crackling for a moment before he heard her voice. “ _Here. What’s up, Gabe_?”

Ignoring the use of that nickname, Reaper summoned another set of twin shotguns. “What else is in the warehouse other than the payload?”

She hummed, “ _Well there’s you, then that soldier, and about 5 Los Muertos_ -.”

“Sombra.” He growled, in no mood for her teasing.

Laughing, Sombra didn’t seem at all perturbed by his hostility. “ _Calm down,_ _viejo! I’m only playing. There’s nothing too dangerous in there. From what snooping I’ve done, I can say it’s just militia supplies. Guns and what not. Nothing that should explode if shot, maybe. I wouldn’t rely on this information too much though. The last inventory check they did was in June five years ago. So it might be a **little** outdated_.”

He growled, moving out from behind his shelter. “Just great.” Stepping over the body of a fallen Los Muertos member, Reaper followed the sound of gunfire in order to track down the annoyance. “Stay clear of the perimeter. I don’t want to risk any casualties if it blows.”

“What about the Los Muertos?”

“What about them?” Reaper bit out, rounding the corner of some boxes in time to see another dumb man fall. “I’m not here to babysit. If they’re stupid enough to shoot up the place with explosives inside, then that’s their own damn problem. My target is 76.”

“Roger.” Sombra hung up, tone only the slightest bit clipped.

Sombra had been taken in by Los Muertos, and while she didn’t exactly love the gang nor did she have any fond memories of them, it wasn’t like she felt nothing for them. However she felt about Reaper’s blatant disregard for them wasn’t his problem. No, his problem was 6 foot 1 and toting around a huge ass gun that was currently blowing holes into people.

Reaper shadow-stepped up to one of the higher crates, using it as a vantage point to get the drop on the other. Like an owl swooping down for its prey, Reaper descended on the masked vigilante.

The ruffling of his cloak gave away his attack, but it was too late for 76 to roll out of the way. The two of them crashed to the floor, 76 propping his feet under Reaper in order to kick him off. The two of them rolled away from each other, standing up and aiming at each other.

“Aren’t you a little too old to be playing soldier?” Reaper asked mockingly, referring to the white hair atop the man’s head.

Snorting, 76 rolled his shoulders slightly, gun still trained on the wraith. “I could say the same about you. You don’t sound like a spring chicken yourself.”

Who the hell used that phrasing anymore? Apparently this old coot did. It was slightly amusing. If Reaper wasn’t so eager to kill him, he might’ve laughed. Maybe he will, once this pest was dead.

“ _Jefe! You’ve got to get out of there_!!” Sombra’s yell over the com made Reaper jolt, his shot missing by an inch.

‘ _What now_?’ He thought to himself, his sigh coming out a growly mixture.

“ _He’s got back up! The payload’s been compromised, we’re outnumbered here!_ ”

Reaper snarled, “Los Muertos?”

“ _Those still alive ran the moment they saw the heat these guys were packing!_ ”

Dodging a spray of bullets, Reaper spun and fired off two rounds, herding 76 back towards a pile of upturned crates. The mission was a bust, something that really pissed him off.

76 turned after firing off another helix rocket that Reaper had to dissipate his form in order to avoid. He rematerialized just as 76 turned and ran into the maze of shipping containers and crates. Growling in both frustration and anger, Reaper stalked down the path he had gone. It was obviously a trap, but Reaper was a little too pissed to care right now.

“Sombra, status?”

“ _Not good, Widow lost her perch dealing with that British biscuit. I’m undetected, but I don’t know how long that’ll last. There’s a total of six in their little squad. Widow’s engaged with one and the other four are over by the payload, probably guarding it. What do you want us to do, Gabi? We can’t win this fight, even I know that._ ”

Stopping in his tracks, Reaper sighed heavily. There was no point in lingering, no matter how pissed he was. It’d do them no good to be killed or captured just because he was being hot-headed.

Letting a gun dissipate, Reaper reached up and pressed a button on the side of his com that would connect him to both team members. “Widowmaker, Sombra, return to the ship for extraction.”

“ _Roger_.”

“ _Understood_.”

Suddenly Reaper’s instincts were screaming at him to dodge, years of training forcing his body to move on its own. His arm lifted, blocking a punch aimed for his face. With a growl he sidestepped another blow, delivering one back at 76 with the same amount of force.

They traded blows, moving around each other and not even bothering to use their guns. A kick here, a jab there, together they danced in a pattern that, the longer it continued, the more Reaper realized he knew. He knew this fighting style, experienced it first-hand during spars, had helped work out the kinks. He knew the next blow to probably come and knew the perfect dodge for it. But as he swung to strike, his blow was blocked with the same amount of certainty.

His chest was suddenly gripped by a wave of pain so intense that it made his next step falter. Reaper took a punch to the face and, stumbling backwards, he used this chance to escape. He felt his throat constrict and his body rebel, even when he broke apart his form and trailed his inky miasma up the crates and out one of the warehouse windows. He didn’t reform until he was out on a nearby roof, as safe as he could be at the current time.

The moment he was solid, he dropped to his knees in a violent coughing fit. This was far worse than any other he had had previously, the pain making him unable to stand. He shuddered, hands scrabbling to rip off his mask. It clacked as it was tossed to the side, his face free to cough up the fucking bluebells. Of all the times they had to show up, it had to be now. The pain was so intense Reaper actually thought he was dying for a moment. The burning in his chest went deep, he could feel it from his very core. It made his blood boil like molten lava and the force of his coughs was ripping his throat a new one.

There was the whistling of something being thrown into the air, then with a glitch of purple Sombra materialized from the translocator. “Gabi!” She dropped down beside him, hands hovering near his shoulders like she wasn’t sure what to do. “A-are you ok?! What happened?!”

Her machine pistol was set down while she began patting his back, watching him with wide eyes. He was silently grateful for her presence, it helped ground him, even if it was only slightly. With a large shudder, his body heaved and he finally coughed up the flowers. His throat was numb, so he couldn’t really feel them sliding up his throat, but he did feel the soft petals pass by his lips.

Wait… Soft?”

Both of their eyes widened as they stared down at the bluebells sitting innocently on the gravely roof. Their petals were only slightly dead, having blotches of brownish colour, almost like they were only just starting to decay. But other than that, the flowers were in full bloom and popping with the purples and blues staining their petals. Sombra stuttered something unintelligible, hand summoning up a purple screen she began to furiously flip through.

“They’re healthy again?! What gives? There’s got to be something…!”

Reaper stood just as he heard the commotion near the warehouse, reminding him where they were exactly. A quick glance showed that they had indeed been spotted and in only a matter of minutes they’d have enemies upon them. His mask rematerialized onto his face without any prompting and Reaper reached out, snagging Sombra’s wrist and tugging her with him towards where their dropship had been hidden.

“Not the time, Sombra.”

He didn’t want to think about this, he couldn’t think about this. If he allowed himself just one moment to think about the possibilities of what this could mean, he’d break. He didn’t know what he’d do exactly, but he knew it wouldn’t be pretty. Letting himself think about what this could mean was a bad road to go down, Reaper had to stay clear of it, he had to.

But it was inevitable, he couldn’t ignore it even if he wanted to.

 

____

 

Back at base, it was almost like the days before the mission. Reaper would brood like the nightmarish owl he was, sticking to high places and generally being by himself. Sombra and Widowmaker would occasionally keep him company, though the former more talkative than the latter. The only difference was that Reaper was coughing up flowers far more frequently and each blossom was healthier than the last.

Sombra was extremely frustrated at the lack of information she could find. There was already barely anything about the Hanahaki Disease, which was surprising seeing how it was turning out to be a real thing. You’d think doctors and scientists would be all over that shit. But no, there wasn’t anything she could grasp at. She’d spent three nights doing research, only stopping to eat and only sleeping for an hour or two. At her wits end, she crawled her way back to Reaper and pretty much demanded an answer.

“What changed? You were coughing up dead flowers before the mission, but suddenly your flowers are healthy? That doesn’t make sense! Did you get the hots for 76 or something?” She pulled up a slightly blurry picture of said vigilante. Tilting her head to the side, Sombra pursed her lips. “I don’t know Gabrielito, he isn’t much of a looker.”

The lack of any response from Reaper had her hesitating. Glancing at him, Sombra took note of the growing bags under his eyes, the way he seemed to be finally feeling his age. He looked so tired, both physically and mentally.

Biting her bottom lip, Sombra looked back at the picture. A cybernetic nail tapped the screen, a keypad popping up that she typed a few keys into. Another picture popped up beside the one of Soldier 76, it was of Gabriel, Jack, and Ana, the three of them grinning at whoever was taking the picture, Reinhardt if she had to guess. Hesitating, she slid the screen towards the silent wraith.

“Soldier 76, he’s Jack Morrison… Isn’t he? That’s why the flowers stayed bluebells.” Though it was phrased like a question, Sombra already knew the answer, just as Reaper realized bitterly several days ago.

“It seems like none of us are really dead.” Reaper grumbled, rubbing at his face and sighing. “Noticed it when we were fighting. Boy-scout still fights the same way he did back then.”

“You think he knows it’s you?”

Red eyes gave her a quick glance, “I didn’t bother to stick around and find out.”

Sombra nodded, watching Reaper study the photo with a bone-deep longing in his eyes. “… What’re you going to do now?”

Taking a deep breath and sighing, Reaper closed his eyes, placing his mask back on his face. “The same thing as before, finish the mission. We still have a job to do, this changes nothing.”

It did, but Sombra knew he’d never admit it. She let her screens disappear, watching Gabriel leave the roof with a lazy gaze. Pursing her lips, Sombra hummed in contemplation. While she could respect his wishes, there wasn’t much fun in that. After all, at this rate she wouldn’t get her own plans done, especially if Reaper was still trying to pretend he wasn’t in love. For all she knew, it may cause more problems for her down the road. However if she interfered, there was a possibility Reaper might finally decide to kill her.

But… If it turned out for the better, then it wasn’t really a loss for her, was it? It would be a loss for Talon, one of their best operatives defecting to join his honey pot. Now that wasn’t a bad idea in the slightest. With a grin Sombra stood, chuckling wickedly as she activated her translocator. She had work to do.

//

“Mail’s here!” Winston called as he entered the lounge area. The Gorilla was carrying a crate of letters and the occasional package in one hand, each one with different names and stamps ranging from different areas of the world.

Only a special few knew how to mail things to the newly reformed Overwatch, and even then it was all sent to a single house stationed away from the nearest town. All the letters were addressed to a man by the name of “ _Winston Frederickson_ ”, a reclusive old man that rarely leaves his house. Not the best cover up, but it’s worked well enough for Winston all these years. Every day, excluding Sunday, Winston would send a small drone to sneak into the house and pick up the mail. Ever since the new and old recruits joined, Mr. Frederickson has been getting more and more mail, each one with a specific coordination on them. Those that were sending the letters also had their own cover up names and addresses on the off-chance that one of Overwatch’s enemies found out their little secret.

To differentiate between each operative’s mails, colour signals were requested on each letter. If two operatives had the same colour, then they were assigned a symbol with that colour. It was simple and effective, each mark hidden under the stamp and easily read by Athena’s scanners.

The handful of operatives they had all turned their attention to Winston, some even getting up from their seats to come and see if they had mail. Those that didn’t move over continued to rest in their chairs, though their attention was still directed towards Winston.

Sitting down, Winston adjusted his glasses before he began to sort through the mail. He and Athena had already scanned the mail for recipients and for anything dangerous that it might contain. With that out of the way, it was easy to hand out the mail. He had even made sure to draw the symbols and colours on the envelope so he wouldn’t forget.

“Lena, a letter for you.” Winston held it out, not even looking up as Lena suddenly appeared next to him.

Taking the letter, the peppy girl gasped excitedly and grinned, “Oh! It’s from Emily!” With a delighted giggle, she zipped back to the beanbag she had been in only seconds prior, quickly getting comfortable in order to read her letter.

“Hana, two letters and a package for you.” Winston hummed, holding out the aforementioned items. “Torbjörn, package for you.”

Both came up to get their items as Winston was reading off the last few names. “Zenyatta, Genji, a letter addressed to the two of you. Jesse, a letter and package for you. Oh, and Jack, a package for you.”

McCree sighed, pulling himself up from Hanzo’s side and strolling over to get his items. Looking at the sender, he cracked a smile before moving back to snuggling with Hanzo again. Zenyatta, on the other hand, was unable to get up to grab his letter. Genji and he were resting on another couch, the cyborg clinging to Zenyatta’s back and keeping him from getting up. Zenyatta chuckled fondly, patting Genji’s hand in the hopes to coax the other into letting him go. No such luck.

Jack, curious at his own mail, got Zenyatta’s while he was at it. He handed it to the monk as he passed, the Omnic humming a thank you. Jack took a moment to study his package, frowning deeply. It was a box wrapped in a plastic covering, that much he could tell. The address on the bagging was scribbled on in small, neat handwriting, but no return address was given, which was odd.

Jack’s staring brought the attention of Hana, the young soldier looking up from her own mail to observe Jack.

“What’d you get?” She asked, lowering the letter she had been reading.

“Don’t know,” He grunted, “I didn’t order anything.”

“And the only ones who’d mail you anything are all sitting here.” Ana hummed, pouring another cup of tea for her and Satya.

Frown deepening, Jack slipped from the lounge area, intending to open his package in the safety of his room. Winston’s scans had said it was ok, but he’d rather be away from the others in case that turned out to be wrong. It was better to be safe than sorry. Once in the security of his room, Jack observed the innocent looking package again. He pulled the box out of the plastic covering it, tossing the grey wrapping onto his bed to be disposed of later. Jack tilted it slightly and heard the sound of something rather solid sliding and hitting the edge of the box.

Peeling back the tape and opening it, Jack pulled out a rather large Tupperware container. The sides were foggy, so it was hard to make out what was inside other than deep purple and blue blobs. The Tupperware was also rather chilled to the touch, which Jack found odd. Had it just been dropped off before Athena got the mail? And why would it feel like it had just been in a freezer of some sort? Unsure what to expect, Jack cautiously began peeling the lid off.

Once it was open, he felt his heart stop. If the container had not been in his lap, Jack was sure he would’ve dropped it. Inside the plastic container were piles of bluebells, the beautiful flowers piling up and creating a cushion for a single, lone card. With shaking hands he picked it up, licking his suddenly dry lips as he read the words on the cards.

“ _He’s still coughing them up, lover-boy._ ”

The signature, if you could call it that, was a lone sugar skull. He knew this symbol, saw it often when he had dealt with Los Muertos. He knew it was the signature for a particular Talon hacker, but why had she sent this to him? Why would she go out of her way to track down their false identity for mail just to deliver this to him? Unless she had a hidden motive for wanting him to know. Jack wouldn’t put it past her, she seemed like that much of a wildcard.

Hesitantly, Jack reached out, fingertips barely brushing against the soft petals of a flower. Was this true? Was… Was Gabriel really alive? Alive and still suffering from a disease Jack had caused? But how? How could he possibly…

Jack froze, his hand dropping the note back into the box. He thought back to their most recent fight against Talon, how he had been able to predict the moves the other would throw at him, how he knew he would be blocked if he threw a punch or kick here. Jack hadn’t given it much thought at the time and after it had just slipped his mind. But now that he thought about it, it was a little too eerie to be a coincidence.

Jack bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to bleed, his shoulders shaking as he hunched over the tub of bluebells. He was silent, barely breathing as he left wave after wave of emotion wash over him and drown out everything but the pain and ache in his chest.

Yet, despite the overwhelming feelings he sensed bubbling in his chest, there was something small Jack hadn’t felt in a long while. He felt hope. The feeling, however small, was enough to make a watery smile form on his worn and scarred face.


End file.
